%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "The News from Roberta"  Roberta's account of what happened yesterday does sound pretty scary, and it doesn't get any better. "I was so freaked out," she tells you. Her breathing is labored, and you have to press the phone close to your ear to make out her words. "I didn't know what to do! You weren't just, like asleep. It was like you were in a coma! I couldn't get you to move or wake up, and I was slapping at you hard! I didn't know if you were ever gonna wake up again, and— So was I supposed to go find someone? How was I supposed to tell a teacher or a paramedic that we were playing with magic spells?" So she started frantically rereading the spell, translating it on her phone, to find out what was supposed to happen. When, to her intense relief, the mask reappeared on your face, she peeled it off and was going to wake you, but then she saw the lacrosse team coming out to practice, so she shoved all your stuff into your duffel bag and bolted because she didn't want to be caught there with you. And by that point, as she was hustling back toward the school and speed-dialing a friend to pick her up, she had decided that the stuff was way dangerous. Evil, even. Real black magic shit. And the fact is, you are spooked enough to pretty much agree with her. "What are you going to do with it?" you ask her. "Get rid of it." "How?" "I don't know yet." "Well, I think I mentioned to you, when I originally bought the book, it was because I was gonna put in our class's time capsule." "Could you still do that?" "Well ... no. We buried it last Friday. But I know where it's buried. If you wanna dig it up and put the stuff in there—" "No, I'll think of something else. Maybe I'll bury it in my back yard." There's a long and awkward silence. "You know, it's really freaky," you say when the silence has gotten unbearable, "thinking that there's really something ... magical ... out there." "It's not something to think about, Will," she says in a very firm tone. "But isn't it interesting? I mean—" "It is interesting," she agrees. "But that's why it's ... g'yuh!" "Are you religious?" you ask. Her reaction does surprise you a little, as she's been so cynical up to this point. "No. But this doesn't have anything to do with religion or God or anything like that. It's—" "You're talking like—" "I'm an atheist, Will! There's no magic man in the sky telling us what's good and what's bad." "So how come—?" "But there's still good and evil, okay? Still right and wrong, and there's things that are—" She sighs. "I mean, you don't have to believe in God to think that racism and slavery and exploitation and injustice are wrong!" "But you're calling it evil." "Yes I am. You're way too interested in this stuff, Will. Are you sure you really want to get rid of it?" Actually, put that way, you're not sure you do. It is, as you told her, interesting. But you say, "Yes." "Well, then you just let me get rid of it and you don't worry about it." You relent, and soon afterward you hang up. Neither of you says anything about seeing the other one around. * * * * * Weeks pass and September turns into October. The thought of that book, and the near-miss you had with it, does prey on you heavily at first, but less and less as the time passes. You and Roberta do glimpse each other a couple of times in the hallways or outside between classes, but except for a certain look of recognition that passes between you, neither of you acknowledges the other. You do see some of the others you met on that charity drive, and it is through them that you have another brush with that oddity from the start of the semester. For after that thing with the book, you decided that you needed a distraction—some kind of extracurricular project—to occupy your mind and hands and keep them from wandering off and getting into trouble. That's how you let Keith Tilley (who shares that film class with you) talk you into helping out with a YouTube channel run by a couple of acquaintances of his. Carlos Montoya and Mike Hollister are film nerds, and with technical help from two other guys they have their own "movie review" channel online, where they talk about select current releases and favorite old movies. You and Keith start by helping them out with the little skits they put on before and during the review portion, but there's already talk of the two of you joining Mike and Carlos (on air) in order to get extra credit in your Film class. On a late Saturday morning, then, you and Keith and Mike and Carlos are at the Silver Cinema for a special showing of Quo Vadis, an old, 1950s Bible epic, for which you and Keith are planning to do a special presentation for Mr. Hawks. You're buying your tickets when you hear a shout, and see Steven and Meredith (also from that class) and a couple of more people coming up. You're all standing around together at the candy counter getting refreshments when Meredith nudges you, and says that right after the movie she's driving back to Westside to pick up Roberta, and asks if you want to come. When you ask why Roberta's at the school, she tells you it's for a technical rehearsal of the school play. She was understudying for one of the leads, and when that girl broke her leg—"Pretty ironic, huh?" Meredith asks with that corkscrew twist of the lips that's her way of smiling—Roberta is having to step in at the last minute. You feel a little bad for having lost all contact with Roberta after that one afternoon, so you say you will. And that's how you wind up in the school theater on a Saturday afternoon, when otherwise there's no possible way you'd be there. The rehearsal is well underway—almost done, it turns out—by the time you and Meredith sneak into the auditorium. You have no idea what's going on on-stage, except that the extravagantly gay Charles Hartlein, in an obviously fake beard, keeps jumping in and out of a wheelchair while shouting insults and epigrams at the other actors. You don't really start paying attention until Roberta comes sweeping on stage, only to get shut up inside a mummy case (?!) and carried off-stage. The rehearsal winds up not long after, and with a poke to the shoulder Meredith pushes you to your feet and thence down into the wings. There's lots of people back there, including adults who look like they must be parents. Everyone seems frazzled and in a state of nervous collapse. Roberta is nowhere to be seen, but someone calls your name, and you turn around to face— Well, it takes you a moment to recognize her through the costume and the make up. Certainly you don't remember seeing Laura MacGregor with her hair piled atop her head in a small tower. And has she put on a couple of pounds since the last time you saw her? "Oh my God, Will," she gushes. "What are you doing back here?" She glances past you at Meredith, and raises an eyebrow. "I was just coming back here to see—" You catch yourself. "I didn't recognize you out there, on stage." You point to her hair. "You like it?" She pats it gingerly, as though afraid of knocking it over. "I'm thinking of wearing it this way more often. My God, I haven't seen you in forever! And it's not like we're at different schools!" That is weird. Laura hung out with you and your friends through the first half of high school. And then you didn't have any classes together and somehow never saw each other, and then, without quite noticing it, you never really saw her again or even noticed that you were not seeing her around anymore. "I'll go find Roberta," Meredith says. "You were looking for Roberta?" Laura asks. Some of the warmth evaporates from her tone. "Meredith was. I, uh, just tagged along. We were at the movies. I mean, a bunch of ran into each other at the movie, and then—" By not interrupting, and listening with an intense interest, Laura makes you stammer out a long and boring and not entirely truthful account of your afternoon. Then, with a smile, she plucks you by the arm and leads you across the stage to the other wing. "It's less crowded over here," she says (though it doesn't seem to be) and starts worming out of you an account of your schedule and what you've been doing, and gives an account of herself as well. And it's while glancing around as you listen that you notice a large, open-topped box sitting nearby. Your eye is drawn to a book in a red leather cover sitting atop the other contents. When Laura reaches a stopping point, you ask her about it. "Huh? Oh, that's just some props Mr. Wilkes is looking through for the next play. So anyway, that art class we were taking—?" You listen with as much polite interest as you can muster while oh-so-idly picking up the book and examining it. Red leather cover with a pentagram on the spine. And when you try to open it to the middle, the pages won't part. There seems little doubt it's the same book. But one thing about it is different. None of the pages will open, not even the ones at the front. And even the cover appears to be glued down. Next: "The Final Shot of the Story" |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
